Author: J. Thorp

Summer Vacation, Day 23: Wandering Mind …

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Done with work for a better than a week. Tomorrow afternoon we head west. Tonight, the mind wanders, unhobbled, grazing freely where it will. Ah!

* * * * *

Yesterday at the baseball practice, Trevor spotted a tiny sparrow (not one of the fat noisy English guys) hopping through the grass.

“I just saw a walking bird,” he said. “Why do some birds walk?”

“They walk when they look in the grass for food,” I said.

He climbed down from the bleachers and walked toward the grass. I watched older boys take batting practice.

Trevvy came back, looking slightly flush. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I guess some walking birds are walking birds and flying birds!” he said.

* * * * *

I passed a car on the way home today missing an entire front fender and half the grill. As I passed I noticed the driver with her cell phone in her left hand, tight to her ear, and her right hand gesturing wildly in time with her fast-flapping lips. So: steering with her knees, or not at all? She’s done this at least once before, I suspect …

* * * * *

The beans and sunflowers I planted late this spring have germinated and are growing nearly as fast as the weeds. That little miracle never gets old for me, any more than animal births. How is it that vegans aren’t bothered by eating sprouts?

* * * * *

Wow, it feels good to be off. The Cold Spring Pale Ale is kicking in, though. Lil sleepy. See you soon …

Summer Vacation, Day 22: On Baseball

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

The regular season over, Bren’s baseball team (known as the Radiators for their sponsor, Roger’s Radiator Repair) practiced this warm, clear evening. The kids were loose, laughing, as were the coaches – and their relaxed demeanor brought natural grace and ease to every at-bat, every worm-burning grounder, every towering fly. The kids (several boys, one girl) were smacking the ball around the park, snagging and shagging on every play, diving and sliding – they left the field sweaty, skinned and smiling.

They never play that loosely in games … and for a guy like me, with little athletic talent, their happy-go-lucky exhibition was a wonder to behold!

Summer Vacation, Day 21: Summer Dreaming

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Strange dream last night. I was back in high school, hanging around with this girl I knew back then but haven’t seen or heard from in years. It was summertime, and in the dream, we were dating (though we never dated in real life – never even thought about it!).

You know how sometimes when you’re dreaming, your dream self is vaguely aware that this isn’t reality? So I’m sitting there, talking with this girl, and thinking, “This is a dream. I’m not a Michigan teenager anymore; I’m a married father of four in Minnesota. But then why does this feel just like high-school, and summer, in Michigan?”

I don’t remember a word that I said to the friend in the dream. Instead, I remember the strong feeling like I needed to get back to reality, because (like Back to the Future) if I stayed too long in the past I’d mess up a great and glorious future. But that “teenage feeling” was so authentic I was a little torn about leaving.

Finally, I excused myself, and awoke in bed.

I wouldn’t want to go back, or to do it all over again, or to change anything at all. But I do sometimes wish I could call up that feeling from time to time – like falling headlong into an unknown and exciting future. The future is still unknown, and still has the potential for excitement. So what’s changed?

I’m guessing that back then, every possibility seemed exciting. Today, some futures appear distinctly more exciting than others.

Summer Vacation, Day 20: Heavenly Humor

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Another inspiration courtesy of Hubba:

Heaven, it turns out, has a heckuva golf course, and you never know who you’ll see playing together up there. So one heavenly morning, a threesome shows up, and the first golfer tees off – and hits it straight toward a pond between the tee and the hole. As the ball approaches, however, the waters of the pond part, and the ball rolls across on dry ground and drops – plunk! – in the hole.

“Nice shot, Moses,” his partners agree.

The second golfer tees off, but again, hits the ball straight for the pond. This time, however, the ball rolls lightly across the surface of the pond and drops – plunk! – in the hole.

“Good one, Jesus,” says Moses.

The third golfer steps to the tee, and just like the others, drives the ball straight at the pond. Sploosh! – the ball sinks like a stone. Moses is speechless. Jesus quietly shakes his head.

There is a ripple in the water as a fish turns suddenly and scoops the ball up in its mouth. It turns toward the deeper water, only to be snatched from the water by an eagle flying by. As the great bird passes overhead, the fish gasps and the ball drops on the green at the edge of the hole. At the sight of the great bird’s shadow, a gopher scampers toward its hole, spooking a butterfly, whose gentle wing-beats send the slightest whisper of wind across the manicured grass, and the ball drops – plunk! – in the hole.

Jesus says, “Nice shot, Dad.”

Summer Vacation, Day 19: Kicked!

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Hubba over at Hubba’s House (where else?) posted a funny little story about an electric cattle prod. (Bonus points if that title was a conscious Diamond Head/Metallica reference, Hubba.) So I thought I’d share an early experience of mine.

As kids, my sister Jill and I would spend a week over in the Thumb (that’s Michigander for the area of “the Mitten” east of Saginaw Bay) with Busia and Dziadzi* at the farm where my mom grew up. It was great fun, of course, and one of my favorite parts was watching the cows up close when they came up to the barn for grain. I wasn’t around cows much, so these big-eyed, smelly creatures were fascinating.

Another favorite part was spying the painted turtles Dziadzi invariably had in the cattle’s water tank each summer. If I crept out to the wire that kept the cows off the steel siding of the barn and stayed really still, they would come to the surface and poked their striped heads out of the water, breathing through their tiny nostrils and gazing with their golden eyes.

One afternoon I slipped out to see the turtles, and the cattle were by the tank. They’d already drank, and I was curious about a turtle’s perspective on drinking bovids as he looked up from the cool bottom of the tank. I leaned forward, alternately eying the cows and peering through the water to see where the turtles were. The cows watched me curiously. They were close, and I was nervous about getting closer, so I planted my feet, bent at the waist, and stre-e-e-etched toward the water tank …

POW! I felt an explosion against my forehead, my vision went black and I was knocked backward against the barn. The cows bellowed and scattered. Clutching my forehead with both hands, I ran sobbing toward the house. Dziadzi met me halfway across the lawn. He had heard me coming.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My head … the cows …” I sobbed. “I was looking for the turtles, and one of them kicked me!”

Dziadzi moved my hands away from head. There wasn’t a mark on me. I looked at my hands. No blood. No dirt.

“You sure it kicked you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I bent over like this …” (I demonstrated) “… to look in the water tank, and one kicked me in the head!”

Dziadzi smiled at me. “Come here and let Dziadzi show you something.”

We walked back to the barn and out the side door where the tank was. The cows saw Dziadzi and bounded back toward the barn, eager for more grain. I stayed just behind Dziadzi.

“You were standing here?” he asked. “And you bent over to look in the water tank?”

“Yes,” I said, accusingly, “and they kicked me!”

Dziadzi laughed: “You got kicked alright. See this wire here? It’s electric. When you bent over to look at the turtles, you touched your forehead to it!”

And I could see that’s exactly what I’d done.

I’ve been shocked a time or two since by fencers. It doesn’t knock me over anymore, but oh, do I hate it!

* * * * *

* A note on translation: Busia (BOO-sha) and Dziadzi (JAH-jee) are children’s Polish versions of gramma and grampa.